An Ahnvee
by Aussiegirl41
Summary: Movie: Passion Fish starring Mary McDonnell, Alfre Woodard and David Strathairn. Written and directed by John Sayles. May-Alice's dancing days might not be over.


**Written for the Mary McDonnell LJ community celebrating characters other than Laura and Sharon.**

 **Betaed (co-written, one my say) by Bugsfic.**

 **Mature themes.**

May-Alice watched as Chantelle checked her purse for her plane tickets for at least the third time in the last minute alone.

"I think I have everything. The agency is sending around a nurse at five o'clock this afternoon. Will you be okay until then?" Chantelle fussed.

May-Alice rolled her eyes. "I'll be fine," she assured her friend for more than the third time. "Perhaps if your cousin had decided to get married a few months ago, things might have been different," she admitted with a sad smile.

"Yeah, well, a few months ago traveling to Chicago would have been a stupid move on my part too," Chantelle admitted before reaching down and squeezing her hand. "I'm still going to call you tonight when my flight gets in, then at noon tomorrow, and again at eight tomorrow evening, okay? If no one answers, I'll be ringing the sheriff to come on over and check up on you."

"That won't be very fucking embarrassing, will it?"

Chantelle ignored her sarcasm "When's Rennie getting here?"

She couldn't help the blush that crept into her cheeks at the mere mention of Rennie. "Who said Rennie was coming over?"

Chantelle's eyebrows lifted.

"He said he might come around and have dinner with me," she admitted breezily, adding a casual shrug for effect.

Chantelle didn't buy her innocent demeanor. "So, you opened the package?" she asked, folding her arms.

"No, I have not," May-Alice insisted, affecting her most haughty Southern accent.

"Mmm."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, just go. I'm not going to jump Rennie the first time you go out of town." She tapped her nails on her wheelchair's arms. "I can't jump anywhere, let alone onto a married man."

Chantelle snorted, disbelieving.

"I haven't opened the package," she sniffed. She wished now she had never mentioned it to Chantelle at all. It had seemed a bit of a joke at the time. They'd been talking about what support she'd received from the hospital and May-Alice had brought it up as an example.

She folded her arms across her body angrily. It wasn't fair that Chantelle was now making references to something she'd told her about in confidence.

"Rennie hasn't been married right for a long time. Not how a man should be married," Chantelle mused.

"You think he should cheat on his wife?" she asked, breathless. Chantelle often teased her about Rennie, but she hadn't suggested she take things a step beyond the respectable before.

"He already is cheating," Chantelle declared. "Every time he comes on over to the house and starts some new project: a ramp here or a low shelf there."

"His wife's not worried, remember," May-Alice huffed.

"More fool her," Chantelle mumbled.

May-Alice's mouth twisted. "We haven't-"

"You think about it all the time. And so does he. I bet he even thinks about it more with you than he does with his own wife. That's adultery."

"You make sure you stay close to your father while in Chicago, and give Denita a hug and a kiss for me."

Chantelle wasn't fooled by her obvious effort to change the subject. "Opening the package could change everything."

She plucked at the blanket draped over her lifeless legs. "Rennie's too much of a gentleman-"

"Yes, he is at that. But you're not too much of a lady." Chantelle flashed her a grin and gave her a kiss on the cheek, thereby softening any insult in her words. "I'll still be here, whatever you decide," she said as a farewell.

She waited until she heard the car pull away before she flipped over the cushion of the couch where she'd hidden the package.

She hadn't lied to Chantelle, she hadn't opened it. But she had got it out of the back of the closet almost two weeks ago, when Chantelle booked her flight.

She remembered the day the psychologist had given it to her. She still remembered what she had screamed at the woman. _"_ _It's all fucking feel-good bullshit. The reality is that no man would ever look at me in that way again. And if one did, he'd be some pervert with some sick fetish; screwing the cripple, to give her a cheap thrill."_

That had been before Rennie.

"Fuck it," she said aloud now, grabbing the padded envelope and ripping it open, tossing its contents onto her lap.

A box of condoms, a bottle of lubricant and several pamphlets.

Gingerly, she picked up one of the pamphlets. 'Information for male sexual partners of a woman with complete paraplegia', it read across the top.

"Rennie, perhaps you might like to read this before we start," she twittered like a psychologist.

She flicked through some of the other pamphlets. Her despair growing at each title: 'Positions', 'What has changed with your body?', 'Sex Aids and Accessories available'.

"How fucking romantic," she growled, screwing up a pamphlet in her fist.

She lifted her arm and aimed for the trash can, but then paused. Her anger warred with logic for a moment longer until, with a sigh, she lay the piece of paper in her lap and ironed out the wrinkles with the back of her hand.

~~MM~~

May-Alice flicked through her tops. She wanted to wear something pretty tonight, instead of one of her plain t-shirts. She finally settled on a blouse of deep maroon satin. She could leave a couple of its top buttons open to give it her usually prefered low neckline.

Before she put it on, she moved over to her dresser and dabbed a little perfume onto her pulse points. Her bra was, according to the expensive label, fuchsia. She couldn't imagine buying anything so frivolous now. She especially rummaged through her underwear drawer to find it after Chantelle left.

Her hair was a lost cause. It was getting thicker and wavier every day. It didn't seem to matter how much mousse she slicked through it, it still looked out of control and uncared for.

She used to sit and have someone style it for her every morning. Now, she just sat.

She tugged on the blouse and rolled back to get the whole effect in the mirror.

"Shit, I still look like a _vielle_ ," she spat out, inflecting the last word with her best Cajun twang.

Her one rather cumbersome accessory was what ruined the outfit.

Was she really thinking she could seduce Rennie tonight?

Could she make him remember the young teenage girl she'd once been? One he'd so obviously been attracted to when he'd settled one of his smoldering looks in her direction.

They'd both lived a lifetime since then.

He was no longer the bad boy breaking hearts all over town. He was responsible father, earning an honest income, with decent values and a good heart.

Which Rennie was it that she wanted? Which one did she think she loved?

Her conflicted thoughts were cut off by a burning odor stinging her nostrils.

With a curse, she sped through to the kitchen, where she found the jambalaya she'd left simmering on the stove furiously bubbling over.

She quickly shut off the heat and grabbed the wooden spoon, hoping there wasn't going to be too much baked-on crust on the base of the pot.

The doorbell chimed. It was most likely Rennie at the door. Was she going to ask him to sleep with her? Would he want to if she did ask him?

The oven timer buzzed.

The telephone trilled.

She spun around.

The sleeve from her blouse caught on the pot's handle, and by reflex, she jerked her arm away. The movement somehow tilted her chair and she slid out onto the kitchen floor in a graceless heap.

Next, like a scene from some slapstick comedy, she watched from the ground as the pot wobbled precariously for a moment before falling with a loud crash, scattering red sauce all over the linoleum floor and her carefully chosen white pants.

"Fuck."

"May-Alice!"

She sighed resignedly. She'd been so intent on proving her independence to Rennie and Chantelle this weekend, and now she had done everything but.

~~MM~~

Rennie leaned over the edge of the new back deck that he'd finished building them a couple of weeks back and wrung out the mop. He'd insisted she stay settled out here with a drink while he cleaned up the kitchen.

So much for making a good impression on a man.

He'd lifted her up off the kitchen floor and carried her over to the living room couch. He'd then stripped off her pants and followed the strict instructions Chantelle barked over the telephone on how to check for injuries. Luckily, it seemed, she'd only bruised her ego and burned her dignity.

"I think I got all of it," he said, moving closer to lift off the towel he'd placed across her lap and crouching down beside her to study her legs again.

She stared down at the dusty cap covering his head.

"You ever get hat hair?" she asked the first thing that sprung into her mind.

"What sorta question is that?" he laughed.

He stood and moved to the icebox they'd set up outside, apparently satisfied she was uninjured.

"You know, that ridge that comes around your hair when you take your hat off at night."

"Don't reckon I take much notice how pretty my hair is when I get ready for bed," he mused, popping open a bottle of beer.

Once the deck was built, Rennie had come back to put together the grill she'd bought to sit out here. She'd then asked him to come back and demonstrate how to cook on it. She and Chantelle both claimed ignorance when it came to firing it up. In Chantelle's case, at least, this ignorance wasn't false.

That night, Chantelle had relented and allowed him to drink around them. He'd only brought a six pack, and even then had ended up leaving a couple behind. Beer had never been her drink of choice, so fortunately it hadn't really bothered her.

She watched now, spellbound, as Rennie ran the icy beer bottle around his neck in an attempt to cool down. Even though it was now almost eight, the heat and humidity were still heavy in the early summer air.

"That why you went and stopped wearin' your cap-vanity?" he teased as she was still trying to ignore the attraction of his shiny-from-sweat skin. "Here I thought it was some deep, meaningful thing."

"I still wear it, in the sun." She lifted the weight of her own hair off the nape of her neck. There was an advantage to the close-cropped style when it came to dealing with the Louisiana's weather. "I have to," she added, "with my skin."

His gaze lingered over her low neckline. "Yeah, I wouldn't want to come on over every weekend to check you for burns," he rasped.

She flushed and took a long gulp of her water. She hoped he didn't notice the way her hands were shaking.

Apparently not, when his conversation turned to the more routine: "Are you hungry? We could cook somethin' else up." He checked his watch. "When was that nurse supposed to be gettin' here?"

She slapped at a mosquito sitting on her arm.

"She's late," he wondered.

She remained mute, stretching out her arms and checking for any other insects.

He went on: "You see, Chantelle and me figured you probably gone and called that agency and told 'em to forget about their nurse as soon as she started up the car."

She looked up. He gave her one of those small crooked grins of his which always made her heart pound faster.

"I don't need a nurse," she insisted.

His gaze wandered to the towel still draped over her lap.

Her chin lifted. "I won't do anything silly like that again. I was...distracted."

"Yeah? You gonna tell me what by?"

She ran her finger over the condensation of her glass. "Won't your wife be expecting you home soon?" she asked carefully.

He slowly took a swig of his beer. "I tol' her I won't be home tonight. Just in case she noticed."

"You told her you're babysitting a cripple?"

"No. I arranged to go snake huntin' with Clovis. We usually go out all night and stop in at the diner for breakfast afterwards. I don't go gettin' home until lunchtime."

"Oh," she breathed, trying to stifle her disappointment. "I suppose you should go." She wiped her sweaty palms across her thighs. "For the money," she added.

"Yeah. Those researchers pay good."

She hummed a reply.

"Although I do think it's gonna rain."

Her heart began to thump wildly in her chest. She looked out over the lake. A full moon was slowly rising, making the Spanish moss hanging from the trees almost glisten. "Really?"

"Yeah, I can smell it."

She laughed softly.

"You sure you don't want somethin' to eat?"

"No." She averted her gaze from his face and inhaled nervously. "I am a little messy. Perhaps new clothes..." Her fingers fiddled with the hem of her blouse, which was smeared with red sauce.

Focusing on where his fingers were wrapped firmly around the beer bottle, she held her breath.

His fingers had almost turned white, and she was almost fainting from lack of air, when he finally, slowly, placed the bottle onto the table and stood.

"Guess if there's no Chantelle and no nurse, I'll just have to help you out," he said as he moved to wheel her toward the doorway.

Once in her bedroom, he crouched beside her and unbuttoned her stained blouse, maneuvering her to pull it around and off.

His thumbs rubbed along her shoulder blade, and then trailed down her arm.

"You've sure got more muscle here than you did when you arrived," he remarked.

He cleared his throat and stood again. "Let me clean you up first," he said abruptly, disappearing into the bathroom.

She waited, in the middle of her room, for a long while. Finally, he returned and kneeled down beside her chair, placing a bowl of warm water next to him, giving her no explanation of his absence.

"Rennie?"

Without answering, he swirled his hand into the water and drew out a cloth. She watched the muscles working in his forearms, mesmerized, as he squeezed the excess water from the cloth.

"You okay?"

His head still bent slightly, he looked up at her from below his lashes and offered her one of his sexy looks which always guaranteed she'd act like a teenager again. It was his heady combination of innocence and sweetness along with an implied come-hither suggestion.

"If my toes could curl, they would be now," she sighed.

He reached out and began to rub the warm but rough material across her skin. She could do nothing but dip her head and whimper as the cloth followed the same path as his thumbs had taken.

After it had swept down both her arms, he stopped. "Perhaps this would be more comfortable-" He looked over his shoulder quickly before leaning down and flipping her foot supports open expertly. A moment later, he effortlessly lifted her out of the chair and strode toward the bed.

He lay her gently onto the mattress, throwing the towel from her lap as he did. He balanced on the bed as well, his knees either side of her body. His eyes scanned her legs, searching for the spots where their dinner had left a sticky residue.

She turned her head to stare out the window. She could see lightning flashing in the near distance. Thinking about his prediction of rain coming true distracted her from wallowing in self-pity at the thought of him cleaning her numb limbs.

"Where?" he murmured.

"Where what?" she repeated dazedly.

"Where does it start?"

She looked down. The cloth was lying on her left thigh, but his hands were cupping her hips, his thumbs drawing circles there.

She quickly looked away again, blinking back the tears. "I-" she sniffed.

"Higher?" he rasped.

She nodded and looked back down to where his hands were creeping up her body.

They touched her lower belly.

She shook her head.

He inched his hands up higher.

Just below her ribs, she felt the heat of his fingers, and she cried out with joy.

"Okay," he drawled. "Now I know."

She choked out a sob, but his mouth smothered it. His lips coaxed hers to open in response, granting his tongue access. As it tangled with hers she gripped his shoulders, holding him as close as she could.

A crash of thunder shook the house and startled them into parting.

They stared at each other for a long moment, both panting, before he smiled and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"I like it now it's grown a little longer. Make you look a bit less fancy actress. Maybe a bit more like a woman I have a chance with."

She laughed throatily. "Oh, I think you've got a pretty good chance," she said.

He slowly pulled aside her bra, the sponge bath apparently forgotten. His head dipped to capture first one, and then the other, of her nipples between his lips. He tongued one hardened point enthusiastically while he teased the other with his fingers.

She sank her fingers into his hair, dragging her nails across his scalp.

"Don't you go blaming my hat later," he laughed, rolling off her to carelessly throw his t-shirt in the general direction of where the towel had landed on the floor.

Her mouth dried at the sight of his lean upper body. He was toned, not from the gym like Jamie, but from working on his boat, working with his hands...

His hands began to explore the rest of her upper body. Along with his mouth, they were seemingly everywhere. One moment she was trembling from his tongue licking her earlobe, the next he was discovering the secret delights of the inside of her elbow.

Somewhere at the back of her mind, she registered that the rain was now drumming down upon the roof. Meanwhile, he was discovering places that even she would have never guessed were erogenous zones.

Next she felt herself being jostled, and realized he was removing her panties.

"This is too much for you," she cried in a panicky tone, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. "You don't have to do this, Rennie."

"Well, you're right there, I don't have to, May-Alice. I do want to though. And I'd say in fact I need to." He grabbed her hand and dragged it down to his groin. She could feel his hardness through the denim of his jeans. "That's been diggin' into your leg now for a while."

She surprised herself by blushing. He went back to kneading her breasts with his rough palms while exploring the rest of her upper body with his mouth.

After what seemed like hours of this relentless attention, he chuckled and drew back to look down at her face. "You okay?"

She lifted her neck as far as it would go and kissed him hard, square on his lips. He groaned against her mouth and responded instantly, their tongues meeting again.

"The leak!" she gasped suddenly, breaking away from his kiss.

He shook his head in confusion, and she tried to look around his shoulder.

"In the hallway just outside my room. The roof's leaking," she explained vaguely.

He climbed out of the bed and scooped up the bowl lying on the floor near her chair. He quickly went to work pouring the water from the bowl back into the bathroom sink, and placing it directly under the drip coming from the ceiling.

When he returned, he stood at the foot of the bed and quickly stripped out of the rest of his clothes.

Once he was naked, she stared unashamedly.

She could see how he wore his jeans low while out in the sun; below his waist, his skin was much whiter. She licked her lips, her eyes drifting to his groin area, fascinated by how his skin again darkened there.

Of course he had to be very well endowed. She only managed to stop herself from saying any of the million bad blow job jokes that ran through her mind out loud.

One thing was for sure, he was beautiful.

He joined her back on the bed, and she decided on doing some exploring of her own. Her hands smoothed over his rippled chest, and stroked down his legs.

He leaned closer so she could reach all of him, his eyes drifting shut with pleasure as she touched and caressed him.

She reveled in their differences. He was all hard muscle. She couldn't find the tiniest bit of extra flesh anywhere.

Her fingers circled each of the small scars that peppered his skin. If she asked him about their origin, he'd surely tell her they were 'gator bites. Every scar on every man from Louisiana was apparently from a 'gator.

Unfortunately they made her think of the amount of scars on her own body, and her touch faltered.

He was so damn perfect. Arlene might not be interested, but she just bet it wouldn't take much encouragement on Rennie's part to get the rest of the female population of Louisiana to look twice.

Sensing her hesitation, he drew back. "You're not okay?"

"I don't deserve..." Unable to resist, she stroked across his sculpted chest again. "You could have anyone. I don't deserve-"

"Deserve?" he interrupted, his tone the harshest she'd heard since they'd met up again. "Do you know how many times I thank the Lord that you're in that damn chair? 'Cause I know you wouldn't have come on back to town if it wasn't for your accident. I know you'd still be up in the city, livin' your fabulous life."

"It wasn't fabulous," she muttered truthfully.

"If you didn't end up in that chair, you would have never looked twice at this Cajun swamp rat. And I keep thinkin' I'm so damn grateful for that. And you know that then makes me feel like the lowest of the low. I can't see how I'd have a chance with someone like you if you were walkin'. So, don't you go talkin' about deserving things, 'cause I deserve to burn in hell just like everyone says I should for that way of thinkin'."

She bit her lip hard and let his speech sink in.

"Maybe we both deserve the tiniest bit of happiness," she dared to suggest.

"I dunno what I deserve, but I do know I love you, May-Alice Culhane, despite everything."

Her hands still rested on his chest. She crept her right palm across until it covered his heart, which was beating erratically.

"I love you, Rennie," she promised. "I love you despite your wife. I'd love you if I was still acting." She closed her eyes, and her voice quavered as she completed her vow: "I'd love you if I was still able to walk."

Rennie captured her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. "You be lovin' me despite my hat hair?" he asked, lightening their mood.

She giggled and smacked him gently on the chest with her other hand.

He squeezed the hand he was still holding and began to kiss her again, in earnest. His tongue demanding response, and she opened beneath him eagerly. After a long while, she softly pushed at his shoulders, and he obediently drew back.

If things had been usual, she would have felt a tightening in between her thighs by now; or even sensed that fluttering she got in her lower belly. She couldn't feel either of those, but she was happy to realize she was experiencing new sensations.

She was completely light-headed and she was ready for the next stage of their love-making. However, she wasn't exactly sure what the next stage was.

She looked down and realized he was apparently ready for the next stage too; he was thrusting against her thigh.

"How do we-" he started.

"I don't know," she confessed immediately.

He lay his head against her side, puffing with frustration.

"I want you inside me," she admitted, surprising herself probably just as much as him.

She tilted her head and saw that he was looking stunned.

"I mean...If you don't want me like that...I'd understand...," she stammered

"No, I want to. I want to be in you; come inside you. Even though you won't..." He shook his head. It was his turn to stammer and hesitate now. "I just-"

"Open the drawer," she ordered.

He gave her an unsure look, but she just pointed to the bedside table's top drawer. "Open it."

With a rough kiss on the lips, he obeyed her command.

"The envelope..." she rasped out.

He found the padded envelope and drew out the pack of condoms.

"Birth control. I know you've probably never used such a thing."

He reached up and tweaked her nipple. "There's the smart mouth May-Alice I know and love."

"That bitch Precious had no idea..."

"Precious? Edward's Precious?"

"She said I couldn't have children. I can. There's an irony of some sort. I could become the new face of an advertising campaign." She lowered her tone: "Looking for a pain free childbirth? Try paraplegia, says daytime actress May-Alice Culhane."

"I'm surprised Precious had kids, actually. I don't go turnin' my back on Edward in the public mens room, if you know what I mean."

Her eyes widened with glee. "She told me he was sensitive, but you think he's literary?"

"Literary?" he asked, digging around in the envelope for whatever else it contained. "That some New York lingo for gay?"

She giggled. "Not really. Lube," she announced as his search revealed a bottle. "If you're planning on going there, you'll need it."

"I might not have worn a condom in a long while, but I'm very accustomed to this type of thing."

She gave him a questioning look.

"I've been takin' care of myself now for three years," he explained.

She frowned. "Jesus, Rennie. Three years?"

"Yeah. Damn," he growled, fumbling as he opened one of the condoms.

"When was the last time you used a condom?"

He stilled and looked thoughtful for a moment. "1975. I was 18."

"Perhaps Arlene might want sex if you used one," she supposed. She still couldn't quite understand how Arlene could reject her husband completely.

"She wouldn't."

"But she might be more receptive if she knew she wasn't going to end up pregnant again," she insisted, her guilt making her empathize with Arlene.

"I'm pretty sure that isn't the issue. She insists birth control be the tool of the devil," he said with an exaggerated accent. "I'm not receptive anyway," he confessed.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean when someone looks at you like you're dirt, you can either start believin' you're dirt, or you can look away. I looked away, and in turn, stopped wantin'." He ran a finger along her shoulder blade. "And one day the prettiest girl I knew came back to town and I started lookin' at and wantin' her all over again instead."

She reached out and took the condom out of his hand. "Straddle me," she suggested throatily.

He looked at her uncertainly for a moment, before obeying. She inhaled his musky masculine scent when he swayed closer.

She slowly rolled the condom onto his cock, which twitched and jerked happily in response.

"Hand jobs, blow jobs. Our sex life is a wealth of possibilities," she murmured. She actually believed her teasing statement. She never would have thought such a thing could be possible a few months ago.

She encircled his now-sheathed hardness and stroked back along to its tip.

"Yeah," he muttered, his hips thrusting into her touch involuntarily. "You're real good at that..."

"Some women claim to be able to do it with their mouth."

"Yeah? We'll have to try that one day."

"Three years?" She cupped his balls, pretending to feel their weight. "You're going to be insatiable." She rolled her eyes in mock horror.

Rennie grabbed the bottle and slid back down her body.

In the past, she'd used lube, not as a necessity, but as a part of foreplay. She remembered the pleasant chill she'd get when her past lovers worked the gel around her.

Now, she'd never be wet or aroused sufficiently on her own.

She closed her eyes, unable to watch Rennie's serious expression as he concentrated on applying the lotion any longer. This was something that should be giving them both pleasure, not this...clinical requirement.

She suddenly shivered. Rennie had captured her breasts with his hands and was spreading the cool gel across them.

She opened her eyes as he rose above her, his face still a picture of concentration as he entered her.

She bit her bottom lip until she tasted blood, realizing she was waiting for that familiar brief ache that came when she accommodated a man, and it never came.

"Mon Cher..." Rennie murmured near her ear as he settled himself. "You feel so good..."

"I do?" she asked, unable to stop the bitterness creeping into her words.

She watched as his expression changed from one of ecstasy to one of uncertainty. She was instantly contrite.

"I'm sorry," they both said in unison.

He hovered above her, hesitant. She reached out and grabbed his ass, encouraging him.

"I'm sorry," she repeated. "I'm being a bitch."

"I'm thinkin' there's no right or wrong in this situation. Just relax, we'll work it out."

"Damn, you're understanding."

"It's not all charity on my part, darlin'."

She smiled and forced herself to relax, just like he said. Her hand remained on his ass, his muscles clenching beneath her palms while he moved in and out of her.

He must have increased his tempo because her whole body began to rock in time with the rhythm of his thrusts.

Those stupid pamphlets had told her she could possibly orgasm, but she'd thought the entire idea was ridiculous. She'd always needed clitorial stimulation to climax. But now...

She looked up into Rennie's face. His pleasure was evident. His reaction was one of a normal partner. _Normal_. Rennie was treating her like a normal woman... She was normal to him...

The idea aroused her more.

He moaned out her name. He was going faster, pushing her body harder against the mattress. And that's when she felt it.

There was no explosion of moisture between her legs, no squeezing in her lower belly, no trembling of her thighs, but she did feel it. The skin on her neck prickled hot. A myriad of colors flashed in front of her eyes. She gasped for breath.

Her body jolted back one last time and Rennie collapsed upon her. The sweat from his chest sticking pleasantly with hers.

He panted her name where her pulse raced at the base of her neck.

She still couldn't speak.

She'd just experienced the best sex she'd had in years. She didn't know whether that thought should make her laugh or cry.

After a few minutes, he leaned back and peeled off the condom. "You let me know when you don't wan' me to wear one of these," he said.

It took her a while to understand what he meant. He'd gone to the bathroom and returned with a towel and was carefully cleaning her up when she finally found her voice.

"Haven't you got enough children getting around town?"

He stopped his ministrations for a moment and grinned down at her. "None are yours. You'd be a good mother," he added seriously.

"You have to be kidding me. _I_ need a nurse, remember."

He kissed her cheek. "That's not what you said earlier."

"You're insane," she cried as he returned to the bathroom with the towel.

"For being in love with you?" He lowered himself back down onto the bed beside her. He automatically cupped her breasts and almost absentmindedly massaged them lightly. "And wantin' to be with you? And wantin' you to have my children?"

"And what about Arlene?" she growled. "You're going to divorce her? Move in here with me?" Even as she said the words, she knew he never would, no matter how much she wanted it to not be so.

He took a deep breath, lifted his hands away, and fell onto his back. She turned her neck and studied his tense profile as he stared up at the ceiling.

"It was a nice dream while it lasted," she murmured.

"Yeah."

"You can't leave her." She wished that could be more of a question than a statement, but it wasn't.

"I don't love her like a wife," he promised. "Oh, I guess I still have some feelings there for her as the mother of my children. And I know she loves the kids, in her own way, even though she's got them mixed up with her crazy church business."

"She'd probably get custody and you'd never see them again if you were to divorce," she said, saddened by the practical edge in her voice.

"Probably that too."

"So you're trapped. You're trapped in your marriage, just like I'm trapped in that damn chair."

"Yeah."

Rolling back over, his mouth found hers for a long and sweet kiss.

"I still don't regret this," she whispered when they finally parted. "Do you?"

He nodded. "I regret that I'll never feel your legs wrapped around me. I regret that I'll never get to have you above me. I regret that I'll never be able to give you pleasure by going down on you. I regret that I never did this way back when we were kids. And that I never married you and hid you away on one of those swamp islands where no car could ever hurt you. That's what I regret."

"What are we going to do now?" she asked huskily as his fingers traced the tears on her cheeks.

"We'll work somethin' out."

He reached out and turned the bedside lamp off, pulled the sheet over their naked bodies, and draped an arm across her.

"For starters, I'll have to come on over and fix up that leakin' roof."

The End


End file.
